In the Beginning
by erdbeerpfannkuchen
Summary: Royai. Roy is concerned with the way Master Hawkeye treats his daughter. Riza doesn't want to talk about it- he thinks. First he has to try to talk to her. Fills in their relationship pre-canon. K for now.
1. Chapter 1

Roy doesn't remember how long he had been studying under Master Hawkeye when he noticed his daughter. Not that he hadn't seen her almost daily- she made brief, background appearances, stepping out the door on the way to school or ghosting through a hallway with light, careful and deliberate steps. They never spoke, really, aside from a courteous salutation or platitudes about the weather. But he never really _noticed_ her. In fact, the first thing he came to realize was how little he saw of her.

Master Hawkeye scratched his chin and shifted through stacks of paper as Roy stood near the door, waiting for him to fetch the notes for the day's lesson. He waited with a straight back and shoulders strong- even then, he was preparing for his future military career. After ten minutes though, his proper form disintegrated and he leaned into the doorframe as Master Hawkeye swore up and down that the papers were _just here_ and that they included some of his most recent findings and he could not have possibly misplaced them. Somewhere along his stream of consciousness muttering of where he initially wrote them ("I had the idea from _Alchemi, unt ander Majik _from 1385, but I didn't put it with the text, but I read it over dinner in this corner-") he gave up looking and asked Roy to fetch Riza.

In truth, he didn't actually know where her room was, as he had never ventured there before. Beyond the location of the bathroom and the study, he didn't know where anything was. It had been roughly two months (if memory served) since he had started as a protégé of Master Hawkeye, and despite his nearly constant presence at the household he knew very little about the place and its inhabitants. Flames were not compatible with the old wooden house, so often they would work outside despite the Master's ill health. As far as the Master himself, he was a private man. Riza, though, was a complete mystery.

After knocking on two closets, he received a faint reply at the third door. "Yes?" came the cautious voice, low and guarded in tone.

"Um, the Master needs to see you," he cleared his throat- "Riza."

It sounded like an afterthought the way he said her name and Roy didn't like that. It occurred to him that it was the first time he had ever said her name. She had a very pretty name. Riza.

He hadn't heard her footsteps as she left her bed to walk to the door, and he didn't expect her when she opened it, even though he had been the one to knock. Riza wore a very flat expression. He smiled anyway, and it seemed to bother her. "Master Hawkeye can't seem to find his research papers and asked for your help," he said, trying to make the situation less awkward. It wasn't working.

Her pupils dilated and the stoic look fell into one of dread. "Oh."

Roy didn't understand how that would have upset her, and he chose to tread more lightly (if that was possible) in the future. He stepped out of the way as she quickly brushed past him and around the corner. _Girls_, he scoffed.

He followed at a casual pace. A knot was beginning to form in his stomach and waves of nausea began to stir his mind. Riza didn't look right. She looked far too disturbed at the mention of her father for everything to be normal.

Come to think of it, beyond when Master Hawkeye introduced Riza to him, he hadn't seen them in the same room, or interacting, ever. Once, he had spent the night on their downstairs couch after a particularly long lesson, and had been woken absurdly early at the sound of footsteps and murmuring, some strange mechanical sound, and a quiet whimpering noise that sounded disturbingly like a trapped animal. It had been too early in their relationship to ask the Master what it was. It was too far in the past to mention it now, and Roy had discovered that getting close to the man was an impossible task. There would never be any delicate conversation between the two of them. There was respect, but no amicability.

When he reached the door of the study, Master Hawkeye instructed him to wait outside the door. He did, obediently. There was a long, disturbing silence. Roy closed his eyes and tried not to let his imagination get the better of him. He didn't take Master Hawkeye to be the type to- well, he didn't even know what he suspected him of. There wasn't any indication that anything was awry, really. And yet he frowned at his shoes.

The door opened a short while after. Riza stood in the frame, blonde shaggy hair falling over her eyes. She tucked it back and looked angry with herself for needing to. For a second she locked eyes with him. Riza was far too young to have the amount bitterness in her eyes that she did- it was shot all at once at him like a well-aimed bullet, fast, unexpected, explosive, and it stung when she turned away and returned to her room. He clenched his jaw and tried to hide the sudden baseless anger that burned at his throat. "Did you find your notes?" Roy asked, suddenly defensive over nothing, channeling the anger that wanted to be expressed in his voice to his tightening fist. His knuckles were white.

"Yes." Master Hawkeye replied from the study, as he waved a freshly inked piece of paper. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

He resolved to ask Riza if she was alright.

* * *

Roy frowned at the noise in the front room, indicative of more bodies present and more dishes to be done. His hands had already shriveled to prunes from cleaning shot glasses. The clientele of Madame's shop were not necessarily bad people, but he had grown to be very protective of the staff, which was mostly composed of women in various stages of undress. At some point or another each had served as a babysitter, designated driver or a therapist to him, and the thought of trashy men trying to put their grubby hands all over his _sisters_ was enough to make his blood boil. Roy growled something to himself and plunged his hands back into the soapy water.

Back then Chris Mustang's shop was back East- it was only when the Ishval war was starting to look grim that she and the girls moved to central, at Roy's suggestion. That would be in the years to come.

His childhood and adolescence was spent surrounded by women of all kinds: fat, skinny, tall, short, trans, cis, lesbian, straight, bi-and anything in between, ugly, pretty, smart, dumb, Ishvalan, Xingese, and whatever else you will. They all offered him some sort of advice about how to treat women and he had a thorough education in the area by the time he was fourteen. He probably learned too much. Regularly, Roy was subjected to "etiquette tests" where they would drill him on polite and charming ways to pick up women. ("We're not going to let him grow up to be a sleaze bag!" Miranda had told Chris one day when she inadvertently discovered he and several of the girls playing what was essentially a strange take on a tea party back when he was twelve. Chris didn't object.) He was a quick learner. By fifteen, he was successfully able to flirt with anyone (well, almost anyone) presented to him and take rejection well. Roy was sort of the house pet, and he sprawled in their adoration like a cat in the sun.

By all means, he never expected to have a problem with a woman.

Well, she was still a girl.

Roy cursed himself for comparing flirting to talking to Riza. He never had any intention on hitting on a fifteen year old, especially when her situation was- okay, he didn't know what it was.

If he knew anything from living with women all his life, he knew that when he was sent seriously bad vibes, he should leave her the fuck alone. But Riza wasn't sitting in a bar somewhere, one comment away from throwing her drink in his face. She was holed up in a house with a man he suspected was harming her. He hadn't been drilled for this.

"What's up, Roy-Boy?" His mother (foster mother, but mother all the same) leaned against the door frame, tapping the lit end of her cigarette into a tray that she had likely stolen off a table out front. "You don't look so hot."

"Hey, ma." He shook the water off his hands and toweled them off on the front of his apron. "I'm alright."

Chris coughed and dumped the ashes into a trashcan before returning the cigarette to her lips. "You're alright, and I'm the Fuhrer."

She was his mother, so of course she could read him like a book. Even when he was stuck doing the dishes alone Roy usually whistled (too loudly) to himself or made comments on whatever bits of conversation he could hear from the bar. But tonight he was lost in thought. Pensive was a rare look on him.

"It's a girl." He said, well aware of the effect it would have on his mom. As expected, her interest was piqued. She would be disappointed.

"Finally," she sighed, pulling up a stool. "Keep washing," she said, gesturing to the glasses that continued to pile beside him. "I'll dry."

* * *

"Well?" Roy handed her the last glass of the night. The front had already closed up, and save for the few remaining girls in back gathering their things, the place was empty. It was past 3 am.

"I think you're making assumptions." With one sweep, she dried the short glass and sat it in the clean pile. "Have you talked to her yet?"

He sighed and slid down to the floor, letting his knees finally succumb to the hours of standing. "No. I was planning to, but we've never talked before."

"Think of it like this: you join the army-" At a mutter of protest, she shushed him. "Don't try this with me, you look at recruitment posters like a girlie mag." At another impertinent remark, she cut him off with a pointed look. "Oh, please. They're between your mattress and the box spring, hon. Try asking what else I've found." Defeated, Roy shut up. "So you join the army, and your superior officer- say you're a lieutenant or something and they're a lieutenant colonel, or whatever- is a little harsh on you. Their new lapdog who you hardly know, a major or some in between-y rank-" Roy rolled his eyes- "asks you if you're being treated fairly. Now, what do you say? Do you tell the guy who reports directly above you just what your problem is with the higher ups? No. Now pretend the lieutenant colonel is your dad."

Roy pressed his wrinkled fingers together. "I see your point."

A pause hung in the air for a brief moment. Chris sighed again. "Hon, It's not what you wanted to hear, but you asked." Chris leaned forward and ruffled his dark hair. His mood didn't seem to improve, and he remained fixed on his fingers. "Try talking to her normally first. Or thinking before you do something stupid. Maybe you'll find your answer without poking your nose in her life."

Roy mumbled something resembling an agreement and looked up at his mother. With a pat on his cheek, she encouraged him to stand up again, and he did. "I'll put all these away. Go to bed, Roy-Boy."

* * *

At nine, he woke up.

Through squinted eyes, Roy glared at the streaming sunlight that landed on his face as if the mere darkness of his expression would force the sun away. But the sun was a force of nature, and passive aggressive teenage boys did not threaten it. Reluctantly, he submitted to its power and got out of bed.

The first thing he did was change the location of his porno collection (it was now safely behind the drawers of his desk) and the second thing was immediately return to his thoughts about Riza (which, for the record, was not at all related to his porn collection.)

He decided it was too early to think without coffee. He changed into his pants with minimal difficulty and his shirt with ease. The bed was left unmade, as usual, and after quickly brushing his teeth he ran out the back door. If his neighbors didn't know he lived at Madame's, he imagined he would have earned quite a reputation from leaving the strip joint every morning.

Roy earned enough from splitting tips with the girls to afford a few creature comforts and whatever small things he wanted badly enough. Most of the time he was willing to settle for the coffee at home (as long as Miranda didn't make it) but it was a sunny Saturday morning and it would be a waste not to go outside. He would rather do his thinking in public, anyway. If he stayed in his room he was likely to waste time or go back to sleep.

There was a small café that he liked which served coffee in nice big mugs even if you ordered something fancy with milk foam, and he decided to go there. It was a little farther away than ideal but it was worth the trip.

It was along the main part of the city near the square. There was always a lot of hustle and bustle between cars and pedestrians. People watching was his favorite sport, and he anxiously awaited the day it became competitive. It was always better with friends- without others, Roy was the only one who could appreciate his own witty commentary about the passers-by.

The library was set just across from the main government building and was its rival in both size and image. He usually liked to pass on the side closer to East City headquarters (and eye the best office on the top floor) but the café was closer to the library. The library actually had a better view of the building, anyway. In front of the lower steps, he looked from afar at the imposing Doric columns across the square and constructed some mental image of himself descending the grand white front steps over there as he left work every day, rather than tripping over trash cans like he did now. Fantasy over, he turned to look up at the identical steps of the library. There were always more people on this side of the square- the building always had surges of people checking out and returning books or just lounging by the front.

The entrance wasn't the same, though. The library was all Ionic columns and rounded windows where the government building was angular and harsh. The library had its own charm that he liked well enough. As Roy inspected the architecture, he watched a few people come and go. A pudgy old man, a young boy with a backpack, a woman chatting on her cell phone, a teenage girl with short blonde hair and straight shoulders…

Wait.

Roy had yelled her name before he realized he had. Riza stopped mid-step and turned to face him as he walked (okay, it was almost running) up to meet her. Her face lacked the sternness it usually had and Roy assumed it was because she was surprised. When he reached her he realized he had no idea what he would say. He was beaming like he always was, and tried to come up with something as he caught his breath from hurrying up the steps.

"Hi." He tried not to sound like he was panting but failed miserably.

"Mr. Mustang," she replied, blinking.

"Roy."

Her brow furrowed and Roy cursed himself. "Father told me to call you Mr. Mustang."

"Well, I'm telling you to call me Roy."

She blinked again and pulled her books a little closer. "Alright," the corners of her lip pulled up just slightly. It wasn't a smile, but she looked amused, which was a start. "Roy."

"Are you headed somewhere now?"

Riza gestured to her books. "Home. To read these."

"Oh." Roy scratched the back of his head. "Well, I was going to get coffee."

"Okay."

"Do you, uh, want to come?" He smiled, hopeful, and she blinked again. She had one hell of a poker face. Shit, did fifteen year olds drink coffee? Did he drink coffee when he was fifteen? Probably. She looked older than she was. Maybe not older, exactly, but wiser.

"I don't have any money with me."

"I'll pay."

Riza glanced behind her like she expected a reason not to go with him waiting there. She shifted her books again and regained that stern, unreadable expression.

"I mean, it's only if you want to, you don't have-"

"I'll go," she said, still looking behind her.

"Okay," He was still smiling and it hurt his face a little. "I mean, good."

"Okay."

They both stood there for a moment, a throng of people moving around them, two buoys in waves of people. It didn't feel as weird as Roy thought it would.

"Do you, um, want me to carry your books?" he asked, feeling a shoulder of some careless guy hit his back.

"No, it's fine." An official looking woman forced her way between them and past them, and Riza stepped back like she expected it. "Lead the way."

* * *

Please leave reviews!

I hate to end it with so little action, but it's at ~3k words and I figure there's something to look forward to. Encourage me!

Disclaimer: When FMA came out I was like 7, so if you genuinely believe I own the series I will laugh at you.


	2. Chapter 2

Riza had never been there before, but was still very sure of what she wanted. She ordered a black coffee and said she didn't want anything else. Roy had gone with the intent to buy a drink with an actual name (and maybe breakfast- he still hadn't eaten) but was suddenly self-conscious and bought the same thing. They were only 70 cenz each, so he wasn't complaining.

The coffee was unbelievably strong and as thick as tar. High quality stuff. It made him want to jump out of his skin. Riza, as always, looked unfazed.

"So," he began, a moment or so after they had settled into a small table under the yellow and white striped awning of the café, "what are you reading?"

She passed him the books, eyes trained on his face to study his reaction.

His expectations had been wildly incorrect. Despite her demeanor, Roy figured she must be reading something more fitting a young girl. Maybe a romance, a drama, a mystery- anything else other than _Trench Warfare: A Collection of Methods_,_ Practical_ _Disarmament and Defense_, and _Combat Theory in the Middle Ages_. He turned the covers over once or twice to ensure their authenticity. "Military strategy texts? This is your light reading?"

Riza shrugged. "It interests me."

"Are you planning a coup?" he asked, only half-joking.

She closed her eyes and turned her head down a bit but he could tell she smiled, genuinely. "Not yet," she said, almost laughing, a small lilt forming in her voice.

"I hope you'll count me on your side."

"Why? Are _you_ planning a coup?" She raised an eyebrow and took a sip from her mug.

"Not yet."

"Very funny."

"I like to think so."

She smiled again and pulled her books back to her, setting them in a neat pile. "And you?"

"And I what?"

"What do you read?"

Roy crossed his legs under the table and propped his chin in his hands. Riza still sat rigidly, though her face had lost some of its edge. "Mostly the same stuff, actually. Don't tell your father."

Her expression didn't change at the mention of Master Hawkeye and Roy was somewhat relieved. "I won't."

"Wouldn't he be upset if he found out if you were reading this stuff?" He picked up one of the books, disrupting the nice arrangement, and waved it in her face for extra effect. She didn't take the bait.

"Father is disinterested in what I do. If he does find out, I'll tell him it's for a school project." She took another sip of coffee. Damn, she was impenetrable. _Or she has nothing to hide_, he thought briefly.

Roy had never been patient. Even with his mother's word of advice still ringing in his ear, he pressed on. Leaning in close, he nearly whispered his question to her.

"Are you and your father, y'know, okay?"

Riza blinked. "Pardon?"

"He's not-" Roy glanced down at the table, gathering courage somehow from looking at the checked tablecloth. "He's not hurting you, is he?"

There was a long pause, and he looked back up at her. She didn't look upset. She looked thoughtful, almost, like she was running possible answers through her mind. "No," she said, simply. It was without sharpness, and it almost surprised him. "Why do you ask?"

Roy felt his face flush. He had not thought this through very well. All of the scenarios he had constructed in his mind had her telling him yes, or had her defensively denying it in ways that confirmed his suspicion. He had assumed she would say yes and he wouldn't have to tell her how he knew or why he knew or anything- he had planned to be a hero, not an idiot. His throat went tight with embarrassment. "You don't seem to get along, is all."

If Riza suspected that there was another reason, she didn't question him further, and he was grateful. She nodded quietly and played with the handle on her mug. "It's hard without a mother."

It didn't help Roy that much in deciphering the riddle that was her personality, but he understood what she meant and why she mentioned it. He was beginning to discover that Riza left a lot unsaid. Maybe if he listened hard enough, all the silent dialogue would make sense. "I don't have a father," he replied. It was supposed to be reassuring, but instead she just looked interested. He continued. "Well, I sort of don't have a mother either. They both died when I was young."

She sat quietly. Roy had expected some sort of apology to come from her. Everyone wanted to apologize for dead parents. But she had been through it too, all the condolences from people that never knew her mother that for some reason longed to take some sort of responsibility by saying _I'm sorry_ for the deaths of a stranger. She just looked at him, encouraging him to continue with a silent calm that was oddly comforting.

"The engine blew up in their car. We got some compensation from the company that made it. I live with my aunt, now. It's nice. I don't mind."

"Hmmm."

"What?"

"Nothing."

She was looking out at the people in the square. The sun was above most of the buildings now and everything was awash with sunlight, even under most of the awning. It occurred to Roy he had never seen Riza outside of the house before. She looked pretty. "What's she like?"

"What is who like?"

"Your aunt."

He made a face. "Hell on wheels."

She laughed and moved her arms from her lap onto the table. She brushed part of her hair from her face and Roy smiled.

They ended up talking about lots of things. The more Roy talked, the more Riza smiled, and the more she talked. By noon, they had placed themselves directly next to each other facing the square and developed a game where one would select an individual and the other would make up a story about them. Riza was much funnier than he expected her to be, and her almost perfect deadpan only enhanced the effect. By one, they were both starving and Roy bought lunch for them both, with Riza promising to repay him for all expenses even with his assurances that it was entirely his treat.

"We've been here for five hours," Riza remarked at two thirty.

Roy blushed. "Oh. Yeah."

"We should get going."

He offered to carry her books to her house but she politely declined and thanked him for the nice morning (and early afternoon.) He walked with her for a bit anyway, though the Hawkeye residence was the opposite direction from his house.

"Don't tell father what you asked me." She said, a few blocks from the formal outskirts of the city.

"About the books?"

She frowned.

"Oh, that."

Riza looked at her feet. "It's good for him to have someone interact with him during the day. I don't want you to give him a reason to dismiss you."

She really was pretty, even in the dumpy outfit she wore. Her skirt went down to her ankles and her blouse was buttoned up to the very top, even with the warm weather. No one would give a second glance if she waltzed into a nunnery, he imagined, though her age might give her away. "Well, I have to save face if he's ever going to teach me flame alchemy, right?"

For a second she looked like she had something to tell him, but Riza closed her mouth as soon as she opened it. "Well, I'll be seeing you, Mr. Mustang."

"Roy."

"Right."

"Don't orchestrate any coups without me."

Riza pursed her lips to hide another smile. "Same to you."

He watched her walk away for a bit, and he wished she had let him walk with her. Why the hell was she so silent all the time? He liked her company when she actually spoke to him more than he would like to admit. She was, after all, only fifteen, and he didn't like the thought of hanging out with people so much younger than him. Three years wasn't all that much, but she was in her first year of high school and social doctrines dictated that talking to freshman was definitively uncool, especially when he had already graduated.

Roy glanced at his watch. Almost 3:30. Shit. He had to be back to open the shop at five for the weekend crowd. He needed to start working on prep by four. If he ran, he could make it. Cursing under his breath for not being more attentive to the time, he began his journey home, somewhat disappointed he hadn't eaten more at lunch.

* * *

Riza closed and locked the door to her house at four. It was silent, as usual, except for the humming of the refrigerator. It had rained the day before and her shoes were muddy, so she left them next to the welcome mat that was far too faded to offer greetings anymore. Quietly, she ascended the steps and entered her room, placed her books on her bed, and sat, tracing the quilted pattern of her blanket. She didn't feel like reading. Saturday was always the day when her father updated his notes. He liked to do it while the sun was still up because the lamps didn't illuminate as well as he wished they would.

"Riza? Are you home?" he called from his study.

"Yes," she replied.

Master Hawkeye shuffled over in his house slippers and observed her from the door. She didn't move except for her finger, which continued to follow the stitched diamonds.

"Where did you go?"

"The library."

"All day?"

"Yes." Her expression was dark again, and she silently dared him to question her. He didn't. He never did.

"Come to the study when you're ready."

"Okay."

He left and Riza pressed her eyes shut. She was used to it now, the low buzz of the needle and the red ink that looked like blood before it was dry. He used red because he could tell exactly how the design would look as he was inking it. He was very practical that way.

The first time was on her fifteenth birthday. Two years prior menarche had occurred and he was fairly positive that whatever growth spurts she would have now would not drastically affect the design. There had been a great deal of consideration beforehand, and the thought was revolting. The first session was the worst, because he had to put all his research he had accumulated until then onto his canvas. It took hours. Now it was mostly little additions. They took about twenty minutes or so. She used to cry. In retrospect, she felt lucky that it had never been as bad as it was the first time. Everything hurt less now, because she could anticipate it.

Riza forced herself off of the bed and walked down the hallway.

* * *

Monday came slowly. Roy had, of course, been late coming home on Saturday and was forced to clean the kitchen all Sunday as punishment. With the exception of breaks for the bathroom and food, he was banned from leaving his room for the rest of the day. Needless to say, the end of his weekend sucked. For the first time in a while, he was looking forward to going to Hawkeye's place.

Out of pure boredom, he had gone to bed early the night before, and subsequently woke up too early the next morning. On a normal schedule, he would get up at six to be on time for lessons at seven thirty. It was almost four now, and Roy knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. With a groan he pulled his blankets over his head and considered moping in his bed for the next two hours.

After ten minutes or so of lying thoughtlessly in darkness he figured that there was something more productive he could be doing with his time, and he turned on his side lamp. He stared lazily around his room, hoping for a source of entertainment to come to him. The bookshelf seemed inviting and he rolled out of bed and approached it, thumbing through titles of adventure novels that he still had from his old house. He tossed a few on the floor and picked up a more recent acquisition about state-issued firearms. He flipped the first couple of pages and set it aside, too. Nothing else looked interesting. He went back to the book on firearms. It was mostly diagrams, snippets about how various models differed from one another and the best situations to use them. It was broken down into sections, first by combat versus day-to-day usage such as self-defense, and then by chapters that divided the weapons by size. He remembered telling Riza that he read a lot on this sort of stuff (which was mostly true) and figured she might like it. Next time he ran into her he would arrange to let her borrow it.

It was about 4:30 now, and Roy decided he would try sleeping again.

* * *

Usually no one answered the door when he went to the Hawkeye residence. Master Hawkeye had given him his own key so he could come and go as he pleased but he never abused the privilege and the door was almost always unlocked anyway. When he ascended the steps today, however, someone opened before he even knocked.

"Good morning, Riza," he said, smiling.

Riza hoisted her book bag onto her back. "Hi."

"Headed to school?"

She was looking past him, outside. Her lips were pursed and she looked like she was in a hurry. "Yeah."

"Y'know, I have a book that you might be interested in-"

Riza cut him off with a look that clearly said _not now_ and with a harsh and almost silent goodbye she pushed her way past him out to the path to school. He frowned and watched her leave as he stepped into the door.

"Roy, is that you?" a voice called from upstairs.

"I'm here, Master Hawkeye."

"Oh, good."

Roy ascended the stairs and sat down in the study in his usual spot in the corner, by a window next to the fireplace. Master Hawkeye was still scribbling away in some text. "I had a wonderful discovery over the weekend, you know, Roy. Very exciting. I added it to my permanent collection immediately and marked it in several backup copies. Yes, I think it will vastly improve the accuracy of aiming and channeling fire."

"Oh?" Roy feigned excitement, though he knew the Master would not be telling him what exactly he had discovered, neither today nor tomorrow nor the day after that.

"Yes, but of course it will only make sense in context of other knowledge, which you are not yet prepared for."

"Of course," he replied, rolling his eyes. The grandfather clock in the study ticked away as Master Hawkeye kept on with his notes. "Riza left early today," he said nonchalantly, running his finger along the sill of the window, picking up dust. He never cleaned the place. "Doesn't school begin at eight thirty?"

"She said she had something to work on."

"Ah." Roy pressed his forehead to the window and waited for Master Hawkeye to finish writing.

Waving the paper in the air, Master Hawkeye accelerated the drying of the red ink, indicating that he was finally done. "Now," he began, setting down the paper and reaching for another book. "On to the lesson."

* * *

Shorter chapter this time. Please review! :)


	3. Chapter 3

The next Saturday, Roy decided to go to the same café he had last week.

For no reason.

None.

He had set an alarm, certain that he wouldn't be waking up at nine. A few friends from high school had visited the night before, and they had gotten into some of the bar's stock- his mother hadn't been pleased. The light, again, shone through the cracks in the blinds. He cursed.

Alchemy notes, clothes, and other miscellaneous items littered the floor and proved to be a hindrance when staggering to the door. He nearly slipped when turning the doorknob, and again when he went down the stairs. It hurt to keep his eyes open, so Roy tried to keep one hand on the wall to keep himself steady as he made his way to the kitchen. He shouldn't make a habit of waking up this early on weekends.

Chris was already settled at the counter and was smoking over the morning paper. She passed over headlines about tensions with Ishval as Roy fumbled to make a glass of water. "Mornin', sunshine." She turned to the obituaries and looked to see if anyone she knew was featured.

Roy mumbled a halfhearted good morning and groped through the medicine cabinet for aspirin.

"Any reason you had an alarm set for nine, Roy Boy?"

Hunched over the sink, Roy tapped out three pills and washed them down. "Nah."

"You slept right through it, you know. That damn thing is so loud."

Roy set the glass down and screwed the top of the aspirin bottle back on, back still turned to her. He rubbed one of his eyes. "What?"

"I reset it for ten, after the night you had. When did you get to sleep? Three? Four?"

The color drained from his face. "It's ten?"

Chris exhaled a thick line of smoke through the corner of her mouth. "What? Had plans?" With a quick snap of her wrists, she straightened out the paper and resumed reading. "Next time, don't drink my income."

"It's ten?"

"Y'know, it serves you right-"

Ignoring the rest of her sentence, Roy ran upstairs and grabbed whatever set of shirt and pants looked relatively clean and threw them on. He grabbed the book on firearms he'd put away a few nights ago, and sprinted through the door, half zipped and half buttoned.

Chris shook her head and tapped the ashes off the end of her cigarette.

* * *

Roy had fixed most of the buttons on his shirt by the time he got to the town square. He hadn't even looked in the mirror. The sun shone brightly. It had taken him just over five minutes to run the mile from his house to the square. If only his high school track team could see him now.

He slowed to a tired stroll and felt heat from the run on his cheeks. It was a hot day, but a windy one, and the breeze calmed the flush on his face. His mouth was dry and he ran his tongue around in his mouth to wet it again. As usual, throngs of people packed the square and swelled and surged around him while he stood, fidgeting and sweaty and dry-mouthed. There were always too many people and he usually liked it that way. He fed off having an audience- he liked to be seen and feel the energy of people moving though their own lives as they walked past him. Some were too busy to pay him mind and some smiled or nodded or said good morning. Some were not busy but did not greet him. It didn't matter what they did. He liked the range in reactions. Roy coughed into his sleeve and walked forward.

There were nearly one hundred steps up to the library, and they looked much more imposing than the last time he had been there. For the first few steps his legs quivered, but he regained his normal stride after a minute or so. On the second platform, he sat down to catch his breath.

"Do you run everywhere?"

"What?"

Her book was propped on her knees. Her legs were straight and together, perfectly parallel to the step beneath her. Were it not for the slight lean in her back to cast shade on the pages, her form would have been perfect. "You're always running somewhere."

Roy looked at her and she turned a page of her book and did not look at him. He let out a stream of air that was half exhaustion and half a sigh. "Hi."

Riza closed her book and propped her elbow on her knee and her face in her hand. She was almost smiling. "Hi."

Suddenly he was again aware of the ache in his legs and though it hurt it didn't bother him. He looked out over the square and Riza stacked her books into a pile.

"So," he asked, "how long have you been here?"

"I got to the library at about eight." She set her books on her lap and tucked them up into her stomach as she drew her knees up. "I've been sitting out here reading since about nine."

He smiled in a smug, lopsided way and watched people ascend the steps below. "Any reason?"

"Any reason why what?"

"You've been reading out here for an hour."

He looked to her expectantly but she was looking away now. Her eyebrows were raised and he was certain that even if she wasn't looking at him and she was several inches shorter than him she was looking down on him, if only figuratively, and if only to tease him. "It is a very nice day. Is there any reason you ran here?"

"No."

She did not look convinced. "Hm."

"How tantalizing is your reading?" Roy realized that his socks didn't match. His pants mostly covered them, though, so it didn't much matter. One was black and the other was white. The white one had a hole in the heel, but with his shoes on you couldn't tell.

"Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering if you might want to come get coffee with me?"

She didn't move, but her eyes wandered over to where he was. The heat outside was starting to bother him. His shirt was cotton and was cool enough but he had worn pants that were better for colder weather and he was starting to stick to them. She blinked and his smile wavered a bit. She seemed to like his discomfort. "Okay."

"The same place as last time?"

"Yes." Riza straightened her legs and stood in a fluid way that made her dress fall into a neat line. It was a soft cream color and covered in purple pansies that were twisted in little green vines.

Roy pulled himself up with assistance from the handrail. The ache in his legs had calmed down, but he wouldn't be exercising later that day. He picked up the book he had brought and handed it to her.

"I thought you might like this."

Riza scanned the cover and turned it over to read the back jacket. Her eyes shone as they flickered across the brief description of its contents. "Thank you. This will be very helpful."

'Helpful' was an odd way to describe a collection of weapon diagrams, but if you read enough mentions of sizes and parts of specific firearms, than it might be a handy reference, he supposed. Roy had never really bothered to look up any parts that were mentioned in passing. "So, um-"

Riza looked up at him and remembered that they were supposed to be going somewhere. "Oh. Right." She set the book atop the rest in her pile.

"Want me to carry those?" He had a feeling he would be asking that question a lot.

She held back a smile and walked past him in the direction of the café. "No, but thank you, Mr. Mustang."

He considered correcting her again, but changed his mind. "Very well, Ms. Hawkeye."

* * *

Roy was less self-conscious this time and bought a latte with extra foam, two burgers and a sundae. Riza got a black coffee again.

The walk over was mostly quiet but it wasn't uncomfortable. He had asked about her books and she told him the titles. They sounded very similar to the ones she had last time. He wondered how quickly she read them (they were dense) and how soon the library would be depleted.

"You've been leaving for school earlier than usual." He had let the ice cream in his sundae melt and drank it through a straw. There were still thick chunks that had stayed cold so the process was continuously interrupted by loud slurping noises.

"No, I haven't."

"Your father said you had a school project."

"When he asks that's what I tell him."

He wasn't sure if she was lying or if he really hadn't noticed how early she left. "Why do you leave so early?"

"That," she said, stirring her coffee to disturb the grounds that had settled to the bottom of the cup, "is none of your business."

He looked at her for a very long moment as he chewed his fries. There wasn't any way he could think of to answer that. Roy got the sense that Riza had a lot of secrets. "Are you actually going to school?"

Her face twitched into a smile but she kept her gaze on the table. "Mostly."

Roy dipped his fries in ketchup. "A rebel."

"I'm always at school on time."

He laughed. "Only so much of a rebel."

Riza stole a fry off his plate. "Rebellious enough."

"Can you give me a hint?"

"I'll think about it."

She changed the subject to something about troubles along the border and for the rest of the afternoon they were occupied between current events, complaints about the weather, local gossip, and whatever came to mind. Between topics there was sometimes a period of silence that was more because nothing needed to be said than a lack of things to talk about. Sometimes he would just look at the pansies in her dress or wonder why her eyelashes were so dark when she had blonde hair.

When it came time to pay Roy realized that in his morning frenzy he had forgotten to bring his wallet. He cursed and apologized and Riza laughed at him and paid. She insisted that since he paid last time it was only fair, and that she did not mind. He promised to pay her back but she did not reassure him that it was fine because she had no intention of letting him pay for her again. Riza did not like being in debt to people.

She was, however, very satisfied to hear confirmation that he had rushed over to the library.

They left earlier this time (Roy did not want to face his aunt's wrath a second time) and Riza told him that she should also be getting home by four. He offered to go with her but she thanked him and declined. Riza pulled out a check-out log from one of the books and ripped off the bottom half and wrote something down on it and handed it to him.

_Haderline's Automail_, 360 Commonwealth St., four 6-48 screws.

"What's this?"

"That," she said, "is for my project. Tell Mr. Haderline it's for me. He will give them to you for free. Please leave them under the welcome mat inside the house sometime in the next week."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Is this a test?"

She didn't flinch. "Yes."

Roy laughed and she smiled a little. "Am I becoming an accomplice?"

Riza shrugged. "You could say that."

They said their goodbyes and Riza had half-turned away before she paused. "Mr. Mustang?"

Roy put the note in his pocket. "Yes?"

"I think I will read in the park next week. There is an oak tree near the center left half that gives very nice shade and the roots don't poke out."

He got the hint. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Master Hawkeye sat in the shade at the back of the house while Roy stood over a large black cloth on the grassy hill that served as the backyard.

"Now," the Master called in a feeble voice from the house, "make me a fire."

Roy hated that he wasn't even allowed to learn the most essential part of any alchemic sequence. Any time he worked with actual fire (which was rare enough) the transmutation circle was always covered up. Master Hawkeye had drawn it in the dirt beneath the grass, so he doubted that he would be able to see it anyhow. Roy didn't know if it affected the reaction or not, but it annoyed him to no end.

He tried to clear his mind and inhaled slowly. The early summer heat caught at his collar and his forehead. The air was heavy and wet. These were not ideal conditions. He placed his palms at the edge of the cloth.

Focus. He had to focus.

He pressed his hands deeper into the earth and tried to get a sense of the air content above the circle. The humidity was probably 60%, and even though there was a significant amount of oxygen in the water there would have to be another transmutation to separate it from the hydrogen (in which case, the air could set the sky entirely ablaze with the extra elements) but neither he nor, to his knowledge, the Master, had developed a way to do that. But the standard amount of oxygen in the air was 21%...

His arms were shaking from the pressure. He grit his teeth. If the energy buildup was what he assumed it would be, it should work.

He took out the lighter from his pocket and turned the spark wheel.

Instantly, the fire engulfed the air above him, stinging his eyes and singing his throat. Sparks flew onto his cheeks and seared his nose and scorched parts of his shirt and it swallowed him whole and then it was gone.

Roy coughed black smoke. The cloth and the grass underneath were dotted with little burnt holes that still held the bright red color of flame as if they were slapped skin. He looked back at Master Hawkeye. The man rubbed his chin but said nothing and went back inside.

Roy looked at the black tarp and wanted more than anything to find out what was underneath.

He stood and brushed the dirt and ashes off of his pants and walked back towards the house. Riza was looking out from her window. Roy wanted to wave but knew he shouldn't so he smiled and nodded up at her instead. She drew the curtains.

* * *

Riza had brought money the past weekend partially expecting to pay for lunch but mostly because she had to do grocery shopping sometime that week. Because her father didn't work, they didn't have very much money at their disposal. She had been planning to buy a new dress with the money she had used for lunch but she considered the purchase a very good investment and didn't dwell on it. She didn't find time to go shopping until that Wednesday.

She wasn't a very picky eater and her father didn't eat much at all so the list was short. There was about one thousand cenz left. Riza bought flour, eggs, butter, milk, and a can of beans. With what she bought she could make herself bread for eggs and toast and for dinner she would heat up the beans to have with the eggs and toast. She was grateful that she only had to cook for her father when he asked for it now. It had been a while since she had given up making meals for him.

Riza set the groceries on the counter and looked at the kitchen. She should clean it some time. It was put to use daily, but like everything else in the house, a thin film of dust covered most of the surfaces and it felt dead. Everything but the beans and the flour she put in the fridge. The rest stayed on the counter. Riza walked upstairs and put her books on her bed and started reading while she waited to be called. On Saturday he hadn't had anything and she had been waiting for the past few days for him to request her presence. She liked it better when he stuck to the schedule.

Her father didn't call at five or six and at seven Riza made dinner for herself and did her homework in the kitchen. At seven thirty she finished and she waited in her room a bit longer and at eight she went to the study and knocked on the door.

There was no response, but she didn't expect one. She pushed open the door and walked over to the man who was writing in a corner.

"There is nothing today," he said, eyes fixed on his writing.

"Oh."

Master Hawkeye stopped writing but did not set down his pen. He resumed after a second. "You saw Mr. Mustang today." It was not a question and Riza knew what he meant.

"Yes." The curtains were tightly drawn and the only light in the room came from the gas lamp that was set on the corner of the page the Master wrote on. It cast eerie red shadows around the room that reminded her of an allegory she read that compared seeking knowledge to interpreting shadows on a wall. It was very apt.

"Did you make any conclusions?"

Riza considered how to answer. "I think," she said, "he needs to work harder." This was neither an entirely truthful or comprehensive conclusion but it would satisfy him.

Master Hawkeye nodded.

With that, she was dismissed. As she left the room, Riza watched the shadow of her father's back bounce and flicker on the wall behind him. It was grotesque.

* * *

That Wednesday Roy stopped into Haderline's. It was in the commercial side of a more industrial district in East City so he wasn't really sure where he was going.

The shop was closed. A gruff man with a thick dark beard was sweeping inside. Roy knocked on the window.

"Excuse me?"

The man turned so his back was facing him.

"Sir?"

Through the thick glass, Roy could hear a mumbled "We're closed, son."

It was only 4:30 and the hours posted said they closed at five, but the closed sign was, indeed, displayed.

"Please, sir-"

"I said we're closed."

"But I have an order to pick up!"

"So does everyone else who comes here."

"It's just a few screws!"

The man peered over his shoulder. "Who'dja say the order's for?"

"Riza Hawkeye." He hoped her name had some weight.

The man mumbled something to himself and propped the broom against a chair before shuffling over to unlock the door. Roy assumed this was Haderline. One eye bulged a bit and his back was hunched but he was very thickly built and looked very strong for a man in his late fifties. He would have been as tall as Roy were it not for the hunch. "That girl," he said as he struggled with the hinge, "is going to put me out of business."

Haderline did not extend any further greeting. Roy was not given any permission to enter but assumed that unlocking the door was some sort of peace offering by itself and pushed open the door. A little bell rang above him. Haderline was digging in one of the many shelves crammed with scrap metal.

"It's four screws-"

"I know what she wants," he said, cutting him off. "She's very lucky I don't make her keep a tab."

Roy considered making small talk but thought better of it. Mr. Haderline seemed to be offended by his very existence and conversing with him was likely to end poorly.

Haderline limped back over to Roy with the screws poking out of his meaty fist. He squinted and it made the wrinkles around his eyes spread to his ears. "Who're you?"

Roy frowned. "What?"

"Prove that you're not stealing her order."

It struck Roy as overly cautious. He fumbled through his pocket and handed him the note. "That's what she gave me."

Haderline held the note inches from his eyes and stared at the thin loops. Roy squirmed.

"Fine." He pressed the screws into Roy's hand. "Tell her to sign it next time."

Roy cleared his throat. "Yes, sir."

Haderline hobbled back over to the chair and picked up his broom. "Now, get the hell out of here, son. We're closed."

He left and the bell rang again. The sharp edges of the screws pinched his palm and he rolled them around with his thumb. If this was the hint, he wasn't getting anything from it.

* * *

Longer chapter. Please R&R!


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